Thursday, October 30, 2014

It's my pleasure to introduce the very lovely Tabitha Robbins as our Magic Thursday guest today. Tabitha writes the most gorgeous romances, and she's here today to share her Halloween treat with us! Tabitha is also generously offering some Halloween delights with giveaways of her latest releases, A Haunted Moonlit Night and a digital copy of her best selling collection, The Complete Holiday Babies Series.

My sister also shared with us her devotion to
all things spooky. (Anyone heard of Eulalie the Witch? <epicshudder>) I
wouldn’t swap the ghost stories and good times we three shared for the world!

Now, I write romance for a living, the sweeter
variety, with babies and strong, protective men who always deliver a memorable
happy-ever-after for my deserving heroines. My latest series of short stories
and novellas is set in the fictitious small town of Point St. Claire in Maine.
In a previous story, I’d introduced the Point’s lighthouse, which is (of
course) haunted.

Here’s the blurb from A Haunted Moonlit Night…

Former
dot-com success Jack Mason doesn't believe in ghosts or goblins. He hadn't
bought this old lighthouse and keeper's cottage in Maine because of its eerie
past, but to indulge a childhood dream. Then photographer Sammy Briar blows
onto the scene. Sammy's story, delivered the night
before Halloween at the site of a haunted grave, would raise the hair on the
back of anyone's neck. Jack is intrigued, and not only by her tale. Everything
about Sammy is captivating, mesmerising, including her kiss. It's as if... Well, it's as if they'd met before.

Like all good ghost stories, there’s a twist in
the tale that, I hope, will leave you caught between a gasp and a sigh.

To celebrate my favorite holiday, Halloween, I’m
giving away a digital copy of A Haunted
Moonlit Night as well as a digital copy of my best selling collection, The Complete Holiday Babies Series. To
be in the draw, share with us your most memorable spooky experience growing
up…but do it with the lights on!

Tabitha
Robbins
is a penname for a best-selling romance author with millions of books sold
worldwide. Tabitha is into New Adult, Young Adult, Paranormal and Contemporary
romance. Anything with a hot hero and an unforgettable love story! Stay up to
date with the latest news and releases here.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

M.J. Scott has released THE DARK SIDE, the second book in her The Wild Side urban fantasy trilogy.

Monsters used to be just her day job. Now they’re her life.

Newly minted werewolf, Ashley Keenan, thought she’d faced her past when she got her revenge on McCallister Tate, the vampire who killed her family. She wants to build a future with her fiancé, FBI agent and fellow werewolf, Daniel Gibson, but it seems the past isn’t done with her yet. For one thing, she still owes a debt to the vampire who controls Seattle, a fact that doesn’t sit well with Dan. And for another, she knows that McCallister Tate didn’t work alone … and his friends are still out there.

When a vicious attack on the anniversary of her parent’s death leaves her best friend infected with an aggressive new strain of vampirism, Ash is sucked into the fight to save her and to stop a plague of vampires overrunning humanity. It’s a fight that quickly turns deadly when the ones controlling the new vampires decide that Ashley’s family secrets might hold the key to their success—and that the only way to get to those secrets is through Ash herself. To save herself, her friend, and maybe even the world, Ash has to embrace her werewolf abilities, call on some dangerous allies, and take a walk on the dark side …

Book one, THE WOLF WITHIN, is also available.Find out more about M.J. and her books at www.mjscott.net.

SALE

In other good news, M.J, or her alter-ego Melanie Scott, has sold two more books in her New York Saints contemporary romance series to St. Martins Press. PLAYING HARD and PLAYING FAST will follow on from THE DEVIL IN DENIM, ANGEL IN ARMANI and LAWLESS IN LEATHER.

The first three books are about three best friends who buy the worst team in Major League Baseball. THE DEVIL IN DENIM is out now and ANGEL IN ARMANI will be out 30 December. Find out more about Melanie at www.melanie-scott.net.

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Today we have YA author, Stacey Nash, sharing her inspiration behind the first two books in her Collective Series.

Inspiration is a funny thing. A bit like motivation; sometimes it’s there just waiting for us to grab hold of it and others it’s not and as a writer we find we have to drag it from deep inside of us. I’ve experienced both of these. I recently wrote a story that had been close to my heart for years, but when I sat down to start drafting there was no inspiration for the plot or the characters. Sure I had a great concept, but all the pieces didn’t fall together and for a little while it kind of felt like I was forcing them. Needless to say the story wound up in my bottom drawer where it will stay until inspiration strikes. Other times, like with my recently published series, not only did the idea for the concept, and plot arrive at once, but so too did the characters. Because I love the type of science fiction seen in the TV shows like Fringe and Agents S.H.E.I.L.D I drew a lot of inspiration from there, which I combined with my love of urban fantasy. This made the series a real mix of advanced tech sci-fi in a setting secluded from public knowledge, just like must urban fantasy stories. I’m pretty sure it’s not a genre, but I like to call my books urban sci-fi.

This wasn’t the only inspiration or its main source. I’ve spent many years not only fascinated by conspiracy theories, but debating about them with my father.

My favourite conspiracy theory is the illuminate and this is where I drew my inspiration for the secret society in the Collective Series, called the Collective. In my books the Collective are a secret organization who not only suppress the knowledge of highly advanced technology from the general populace, but they use it to shape world events in a way they believe is best for all mankind. This also is done behind closed doors, without society realizing that they are not only the puppets, but also play things of the Collective. Yes, I essentially wrote a conspiracy theory YA. Forget Me Not has a lot of adventure, a good dose of danger, and a bucket load of romance, because everyone loves a little love!

I find stories like this that have plenty of inspiration easier to write. What about you, where does your inspiration come from and has lack of inspiration ever stopped you from writing?

About the Collective Series -
Anamae is drawn into a world which shatters everything she knew to be true.

Since her mother vanished nine years ago, Anamae and her father have shared a quiet life. But when Anamae discovers a brooch identical to her mother's favorite pendant, she unknowingly invites a slew of trouble into their world. They're not just jewellery, they're part of a highly developed technology capable of cloaking the human form. Triggering the jewellery's power attracts the attention of a secret society determined to confiscate the device - and silence everyone who is aware of its existence. Anamae knows too much, and now she's Enemy Number One. She's forced to leave her father behind when she's taken in by a group determined to keep her safe. Here Anamae searches for answers about this hidden world. With her father kidnapped and her own life on the line, Anamae must decide if saving her dad is worth risking her new friends' lives. No matter what she does, somebody is going to get hurt.

Stacey Nash writes adventure filled stories for Young Adults in the Science Fiction and Fantasy genres. She loves to read and write books that have a lot of adventure, a good dose of danger, a smattering of romance, and KISSING! Hailing from the Hunter Valley in New South Wales, she loves nothing more than immersing herself in the beauty and culture of the local area.

Thursday, October 23, 2014

As it's almost Halloween I thought I'd share the very first short story I had published six years ago at Halloween. Foretaste of Forever is a sexy little beast that started life as a recurring dream that haunted me for about five years.

The dream was always the same. Midnight (of course it was midnight!) on a beach, with only the moon for illumination. A dark shadowy man stood facing the raging waves, and a beautiful woman attempted to entice him away.

And the damn dream always finished at the same point - without me having a clue what happened next!

It got to the point where I was thinking about this couple during the day, but for some weird reason it never actually occurred to me to write it down. Not until my CPs dared me to write an erotic romance (something I'd told them I would never do, since it was far too hard... absolutely no pun intended there, of course :-) ) and it hit me this dream was the perfect opportunity to stretch my writing wings.

I wrote their story. And discovered their happy-ever-after. And as soon as that story was written, the dreams stopped.

Powerful witch Elyesha finally finds the
only man she’s ever loved, the man who deserted her countless years
before. But Ben is torn between desire and despair when Elyesha, his
only love, discovers his retreat. He abandoned her to save her but how
can he resist her seductive embrace when she offers him everything his
shattered soul craves?

He knows what she wants. But the price is too high. He’ll take what
she offers for one last night – but as their erotic encounter unfolds so
too does the devastating truth.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Today it is my pleasure to once again welcom the lovely Maggie Mundy with A Bite Of... Unknown Protector.

Can you, in less than five words describe your book Unknown Protector? Angels, demons, aliens, paranormal, romance.

Who is your favourite character in this book? Ridge is my favourite. He is a diamond in the rough who drinks whiskey has lots of sex and fights the bad guys. Underneath is someone who has been hurt so much he puts up this defence. When you break through you find someone who wants happiness for himself and others.What inspired you to write it? I found that a lot of angel and demons books have a background that is based on the angels from Christianity. I had this concept floating around in my head. What if it was all a myth.And here's the excerpt!

“Please don’t drop me, please don’t drop me,” Nicole repeated as she closed her eyes. She didn’t like flying in planes, let alone being dragged through the night sky by an oversexed scruffy angel who was too hot for his own good. Or was it her own good.

“I won’t let you fall. Look around before we go over. I reckon you’ve guessed the events of tonight aren’t the way we normally do things. Humans aren’t meant to be aware of our flying through the night sky which means I can’t let you remember any of this.”

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. His face was close to hers as he gripped her tight around her waist. It was too dark to read what he might be thinking from his expression. His lips were so close and her own were parting at the thought he might kiss her. She trembled, but not from fear anymore and hoped he couldn’t read her mind. They were being hunted and she wanted a kiss, no she longed for it. He had to be putting the thoughts in her head.

She needed to get her mind off him so she gazed down at San Francisco. Her adopted city stretched out below with steep streets reaching down to the harbor, while the lights on the Golden Gate Bridge shone in the distance, reflecting on the water below. She smiled as a tear flowed down her cheek. She had never seen it this way before. For a moment she forgot others were after them or after her in particular. She peeked over Ridge’s shoulder and glanced back over his wings as they glided through the sky. Three dark, winged shapes were following and could be seen against the light of the full moon. Maybe the full moon could explain why strange things were happening, because this was like staring at a scene from a horror movie, except it was real.

The shapes of their pursuer’s bodies blurred. She turned back to the city but the lights of San Francisco were disappearing. In the moonlight she focused on the face next to her. Ridge smiled and touched her cheek with his.

“It’s okay. I’m gonna get you a new guardian and all of this will go away. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

She didn’t want a new guardian, she wanted Mira back. It went dark and reminded her of when she went adventure-caving in Australia. The absolute darkness of underground where not even a trickle of light breaks through, no matter how hard you look. She couldn’t see Ridge anymore, but the closeness of him and the darkness amplified the sound of his wings. For a moment they were all that existed in the universe. His lips touched hers and her mouth opened to him only to have him pull away. Did he mean to do that?

“I suggest you close your eyes and give your mind over to me,” he whispered.

Nicole shook her head and tried to get herself back to reality, whatever that was. “I’m not going anywhere with my eyes shut after tonight, and from what I’m picking up at times your mind seems a bit murky to let you in again.”

“Suit yourself darling, but don’t blame me if you pass out.”

Pain sliced through her temple. She squeezed her eyes shut and instinctively hugged Ridge tighter. His thoughts were in her head again telling her to relax, but this time it wasn’t working. She tried to hold down the rising alarm of what would happen next. Somehow she had an inkling it wasn’t going to be good.

Thanks for sharing Maggie.

If readers would like to know more about Maggie Munday and her fabulous work, be sure to check out the links below.

Thursday, October 9, 2014

The universe planned a chance meeting between myself
and the lovely and most talented, Erin Grace. She, a writer of historical
romance, was much published—me, a writer offantasy? Not a run on the board. I have learned many craft lessons
during these past three years. But most importantly, I have learned that like
any relationship, as critique partners, there is respect and regard for
difference. Now...here I am, a published author. Why? Because I was mentored in
craft, scene structure and voice. But the most important lesson for me was to
realize I was very precious about making changes to my work. I was holding my own work back. So this article is for you Erin
Grace, my bestie, critique partner and mentor. I am grateful.

Who is Kathrine Leannan?

I smell rain before clouds gather across the sky. I
feel the dawn before the sun paints my world the colours of the earth. It is
the flit of gossamer wings above my head as I walk through the garden that
warms my soul and makes me glad that faeries exist. The universe is my mistress
and my strength. Things that growl in the shadows or snap at my ankles in the night
are my dark friends—the source of my creativity. I, am Kathrine Leannan

Critique Partner or no Critique Partner? That is
the question.

When seeking the mentorship of a critique partner or when
critiquing someone else's work, a minefield can lay in wait, for the unwary.
Our writing is our craft—our creation. As writers, we are sensitive not only
about our work, but also, about how others perceive our skill level. To avoid
hurt feelings or worse, broken friendships and a loss of momentum to write in
the future, there are issues to be considered before inviting a critique
partner to review your work and assist you on the journey to writing great
books.

The first challenge is to ask yourself if you are ready to work with a critique partner.
Not everyone is comfortable to amend or indeed cull altogether back story that
really does not move the work forward. It is important for aspiring authors to
find a critique partner that has more experience, so lessons can be shared and
experience is gained. A positive attitude towards writing is vital as there are
days (or longer) when the jaws of procrastination seize us and sabotage the
writing progress. Writing is a joy, not a chore.

Be aware that when another person takes the time to
critique your work, there is an expectation that you will consider the tracked
changes comments, in a reasonable time frame. Also, it is challenging to find
the time in our busy lives to critique hundreds of pages at a time. Keep it
doable. It is often frustrating to manage this amount of critiquing while your
quill is lying un-inked on the table.

Maintain your voice, for it is your story. Be aware,
when working with a more experienced writer that you may find your writing is
changing or you may feel unsettled in yourself, that the work is not going in
the direction you had planned. Remember to confine your growth as a writer, to
the lessons of the craft and storytelling. Our voices are unique, let yours be
heard.

I wish you the blessings of the universe and may the
pleasure of writing, always be with you.

Kathrine’s 1000 year old dragon Muse Mimi... She demanded an appearance so you
can admire her magnificence (her words, not mine).

An excerpt from
Warrior Born - Book 1 of the Katana Series

Exhausted after her practice session with
Yokami, she slept a deep, dreamless sleep. Connor woke with a start when a hand
touched her and shook her shoulder. Moonlight flooded through her bedroom
window. She sat bolt upright, her hands clenched in front of her.

Marie jumped back out of reach. “’Tis only me,
lass. The foal is comin’. Your da asked if ye would come to the round yard and
help.”

She blinked a couple of times, then squinted at
the digital clock sitting on the wooden table next to her bed. The green
luminous numbers confirmed it was 4:30.
She threw back the blankets and flung her legs over the side of the
mattress. With her head down and bum up, she rummaged around on the floor for
her jeans, socks, and boots. She snatched the sweatshirt flung over the back of
the chair in front of her dressing table and struggled to get it over her head.
As always, her hair stuck out in all directions like a birch broom. She
gathered her waist-length hair in one hand, peeled the black elastic band from
her wrist, and pulled the thick bunch into a high ponytail as she bolted down
the stairs to the kitchen and out the front door.

A single kerosene light hanging from a wire
hook on the top fence rail glowed a pale yellow in the dim, early morning
light. Angus walked a noisy, distressed mare across the sandy expanse of the
enclosure as she threw her leg through the space between the rungs and climbed
into the arena.

Exhaustion lined his face. “I thank ye, lass,
for comin’, sorry for the early start, but I’m worrit. The mare,” he ran his
hands down her sweat-lathered neck, “should have delivered by now. I heard her
groaning’ aboot ten o’clock last night.” He shook his head in frustration as he
crooned to her. “I’m fashed about the size of this foal. Its great-grandsire
was the stallion that almost scared your mother to death when you were just a
wee thing. God help us, this foal was to be the finest Friesian we have ever
bred. The bloodlines are as pure as they get.” He shook his head as sadness as
disappointment showed on his face.

The mare groaned heavily as he clicked his
tongue and urged her forward, walking the perimeter of the enclosure. The hoof
prints and boot prints in the sand were testament to the many laps they had
already walked.

Connor approached the horse, and then squatted
down on her haunches. Her forearms rested on her thighs as she clasped her
hands in front of her to maintain her balance. The mare, awkward in her
movements, stood with her head drooping. Her massive belly looked sucked in, as
if to escape the pain. Sharp grunting sounds heralded the next contraction.
When she bore down, she wobbled on her front legs with the convulsive, shuddering
effort of trying to expel the foal from her womb.

Connor rapid-fired questions without taking her
eyes off the mare. “Da, what should we do? Has it been too long? Is the foal
still alive?”

“I doona ken, lass. If she has not birthed by
the coming of the sun, we’ll call Doc Evans, for surely the foal will be lost.”

Suddenly, a great flood of birth fluid drained
from the rear of the mare. She groaned, strained, and bore down again. Her legs
buckled and gave out as exhaustion claimed the last of her energy. She
collapsed to the sand, snorting and panting. White foam bubbled around her dry
lips.

“Nay, beauty, we canna let ye lay down just
yet,” Angus cajoled as he clicked his tongue and strained on the halter to be
bring her back onto her feet. He spoke over his shoulder. “Hold her head, lass.
If we canna keep her upright, she’ll die for sure.”

Connor stood and moved to stand in front of the
horse. She shortened the lead on the halter and took a firm grip of the cheek
strap and the lead rein. Angus ran his hand over the wet coat as he moved
quietly to the hindquarters of the mare and pushed his fingers, hand, and arm
up into the horse’s hot flesh. He leaned his shoulder hard on her rump for
leverage, as he pushed his hand farther up the birth canal, fingers searching
to identity what part of the foal was presenting. He groaned, then his chin hit
his chest. His eyes closed in defeat. In a quiet voice laced with pain, he
looked up. “Connor…go oop to the house and get my gun. The bullets are in the
drawer of the sideboard in the kitchen. The foal is stuck…there’s naught more
we can do. ’Tis best if we end her sufferin’.”

“No da! No! Jesus no!” She released the halter
and let the lead rope drop to the ground. Running her fingers over the back and
belly of the mare, she soothed and crooned to her. “Da! We can’t lose this
foal. You said yourself this foal will be the best we have ever―”

Lightning sizzled across the starless night sky
as thunder rumbled in the distance. A rasping male voice mind-spoke to her. Summons the old ones, girl child of my
blood. You will bring the Friesians to victory. Listen to your Highland
instincts and do what you were born to do.

She turned in the direction of the voice.
Standing next to her da was a very tall, muscular, wraith-like man dressed in a
kilt and plaid held fast with a silver brooch that winked in the lamplight. She
sounded very unsure when she spoke. “Da…?”

Angus followed her stare to the space beside
him.

“Well met, grandson.”

His hand flew out to touch the barely corporeal
image. “Jesus Christ, Connor!”

“Yes, da?”

“Nay, lass, not ye. This is yer great-grandsire
from Scotland, the one for whom ye are named.”

The clan chieftain threw back his head and
laughed. “Ye look as though ye have seen a ghost, mon.”

Angus smiled. “Ghost or no’…Christ I am glad to
see ye. We were told Epona―”

Connor moved around the mare, smoothing her wet
coat with her fingers as she walked over to stand beside her da. She cocked her
head. “Epona? Epona? Where have I heard that name? How do I know that name?”

Her grandsire walked over and placed a hand on
top of her head. “Blessed be, lass. Do what it is you were born to do. Save the
one the clan has waited for.”

She looked to the clear starry sky as lightning
sizzled just above her head. The thunder in the distance matched the shouts of
the ancients, anxious for the Friesian of the old blood to be born.

The exhausted mare looked defeated. Her breath
came out in raw snorts. Connor squatted down in front of her again, lowering
her face level with the horse’s head. After placing her hands under the wet
muzzle, she blew a slow breath down over the horse’s face. Her fingers stroked
the lovely strong neck draped with three feet of black curly mane, the ends of
which pooled on the trampled sand. The mare trembled, then screamed when the
next paroxysmal contraction forced her to strain deep in her hindquarters.

Standing up, Connor walked behind the horse,
shut her eyes, and placed both hands flat on the taunt abdomen. Blood and fear
pumped under her fingers as she focused on the contents of the huge black
belly. Blurry images came together as the shape of a foal formed in her mind.

“Oh Jesus.”

Angus stepped toward her. “Lass…enough. The
foal is lost, it has been too long.”

The clan chieftain grabbed Angus's forearm and
jerked him backward. He looked at his grandson and shook his head. “Let the
bairn find the Sight. It is what we have waited for all this while…it is why
you are here in this time.”

Connor looked up and frowned, then returned her
hands to the mare’s belly as she closed her eyes and started moving her fingers
along the black coat. “Come on now…that’s it…Jesus, da! No wonder this foal has
not birthed. The position is… Oh crap! This foal is huge and God knows how, but
it has got its head twisted backward. She can’t birth him until the head comes
forward into position.”

The thunder was deafening now. The whites of
the mare’s eyes were huge as the noise of the Horsemen both soothed her and
terrified her. Connor worked her hands on the enormous belly. Suddenly a vivid
green glow enveloped her and the mare as the lightning above surrounded her.
The Horsemen roared as they channelled their power into her while she kneaded
and manipulated the horse’s flesh. The stroke tracks glowed like phosphorescent
lines on a roadmap. A sharp movement in the mare’s belly preceded a scream of
pain.

Connor raised her head to the sky and yelled,
“Thank you, grandfathers!”

The mare grunted and tossed her head, then gave
one almighty push. The nose of the foal appeared, wet and shiny. With the next
push, the slimy body plopped to the ground with a thump, severing the umbilical
cord.

Angus and his grandsire were on their knees the
second the foal hit the sand. He looked at his grandfather and shook his head.
“Christ almighty, it’s a big lad. Will ye look at the size of him? Blessed be,
he’s as black as the pits of hell!”

They watched while the mare stood, then used
her sharp teeth to strip the membranes from the foal’s slippery body. The
placenta came away unnoticed with a wet splash onto the sand as she continued
to nudge and whicker to her new son. Within minutes, as is the wonder of newly
birthed foals, the colt struggled to his long, wobbly legs, instinctively
seeking his mother’s waxy teat, which he sucked into his mouth and began to
drink.

The old chieftain pulled himself up to his full
height, then walked over to Connor, gathered her up in his arms and lifted her
off the ground as he whirled her around in a circle.

“Ye did it, lass! Christ, it was worth the wait
to see you save the Friesian who will take our bloodlines to greatness. You
truly are the one of our prayers.” As he kissed her on top of the head and
faded to invisibility, his words rang out in the darkness. “Our thanks to ye.
We will meet again, Daughter of the Highlands.”

Connor reached out to him, but he was gone.
“Da?”

Angus beamed as he wrapped his arm around her
in a tight hug.

“We doona question the ancients, lass. Just be
grateful to know him for the great man that he is…er…was.” He stood with his
arm looped around her shoulders, staring at the foal. “Jesus Christ, I have
never seen anything like what ye did tonight. He’s right, lass. The foal and
the mare would have died without ye and the Sight.”

They stood together, staring and smiling at the
big beautiful colt. He turned to her. “What should we call him, then?”

Connor reached over and took the kerosene light
from the hook on the railing, then walked around the mare, watching the foal as
he suckled. “Well, he is as black as the pits of hell, that’s for sure.” A warm
feeling of connectedness filled her chest. “I think we should call him Hades.”

Connor MacDonald, chieftain of the ancient
Horsemen, resumed his place alongside his fellow warriors as they beat their
swords against their shields in celebration. He turned to Epona, picked up her
hand, and kissed it. Her tinkling laugh was like a feather across his heart.
She smiled up at him as he spoke.

“She sees and knows the ways of the old ones
without being shown. The Sight and the rune patterns of the ancients are known
to her blood. She is indeed a rare woman and will become an even rarer
horsewoman. Our bloodline will survive! The girl child of the Highlands has
this night earned her place among the masters.”

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Khloe Wren's first three installments of her best selling series Dragon Warriors are now available with Evernight Publishing

Book 1: 'Enchanting Eilagh' - Dimitri, Max & Eilagh

Blurb:
Eilagh and her four best friends escape their jobs and lives for a few days to go camping. Fate intervenes and they get whipped away through a portal to The Land of Feury while hiking.
The Land of Feury has a problem. A virus killed off all their females years ago and Dimitri, their leader, has no idea how to solve the issue. When Dimitri’s twin, Max, finds a group of five unconscious females he can only hope of what might happen. When Dimitri and Max realize one of the females, Eilagh, is their Desired they are overjoyed.
But there is trouble brewing, and an uprising against Dimitri causes two of the women to be kidnapped. Will they be able to rescue their Desired and her friend in time? Will these five females prove to be the saviors their race has been praying for?
Buy links:

Blurb:
The Land of Feury has a problem. A virus killed off all their females years ago and a solution is yet to be found. When a group of five unconscious females are found, hope for survival amongst the Dragon Shifters runs high.
Becky and her four best friends are escaping from their stressful everyday lives to go camping in the bush. Fate intervenes and while they are hiking they get whipped away through a portal to The Land of Feury.
Brothers, Drake and Savren, discover one of the females is their Desired. They excitedly set about wooing the strong willed, independent Becky. Their plans do not go smoothly, Becky is kidnapped by rebels and taken from them. Will they be able to rescue their Desired in time? Will they be able to convince the ever independent Becky that having bonded mates is a good thing?
Buy links:All romance ebooksAmazonBookstrandEvernight Publishing

Book 3: Claiming Carina - Denver, Phelan, Hart and Carina

Blurb:
When Carina goes camping with her friends she's hoping her
friends can help her heal from the horrific attack she suffered ten
months ago. The day after she confesses all to her friends around a
campfire, all five of them are blown through a portal to The Land
of Feury.
Dragon shifters call The Land of Feury home. Brothers, Denver,
Phelan and Hart, the clan's farmers, are excited when they discover
Carina is their Desired; their destined mate. But can they help her
heal from her from her past hurts? Will Carina ever be able to
accept the attention of three men after being attacked?
Buy links:

You think you know all the fables that have ever been told. You think you can no longer be surprised by stories. Think again.

With origins in myth, fairytales, folklore and pure imagination, the stories and poems in these pages draw on history that never was and worlds that will never be to create their own unique tales and traditions…

Friday, October 3, 2014

Pain Eased

In every hospital in which I have ever worked, there have been stories
of ghosts that ring patient buzzers or those who make mischief for the nurses.
I can't say with any degree of certainty that these stories are anything more
than urban myth, designed to scare student nurses into quivering wrecks. I do
however, recall an event that was neither myth, nor imagined...

It was 1978. I was in my third year of nursing training. The night shift,
as always, was gloomy and foggy in the frigid Glen Innes, winter. Frost clung
to the glass of the windows, making the patterns of frozen lace tendrils. After
taking handover from the evening shift, I picked up a metal file and walked
down the hallway. The ankle high corridor lights illuminated the length of the
ward. After looking in on my patients to make sure everyone was settled for the
night, I came to a stop and stood in the doorway of my last patient. The small
bedside lamp on the wooden locker next to the bed, cast a soft yellow light
that flickered across the ceiling. The only noise was that of a hapless moth,
drawn to the glow from the bulb. Its wings batted against the shade. As I
opened the metal file, I leaned down towards the light. The records confirmed
she was just forty years of age. I could not help but stare— she looked
seventy. The ravages of pain had tracked deep lines into her face, as had the
cancer that had insidiously destroyed her body.

She lay unconscious, her Cheyne Stokes breathing, uneven and rasping. I
brushed her hair then smeared cream on her lips, trying, but failing, to
improve her comfort. The rattle of impending death, continued in a chilling
staccato. The sound seemed to vibrate through my bones and teeth.

At a little after two in the morning, I approached her room. My feet
stopped suddenly, when from the doorway, I saw a beautiful young woman hovering
above the end of the bed. Her long blonde hair was piled up on top of her head.
The sweetheart neck line of her gown was modest, although the sleeves were set
back to reveal her décolletage the edge of her shoulder. The hem line of her
old fashioned crinoline dress hung down like gossamer vapours. I became aware
of how very cold the room was, as I watched in fascination, as my breaths fogged
in front of me. She looked to me then smiled, hesitating for several seconds. We
just stared at each other. I felt as if I were a statue when she nodded then
turned her head and floated across the room and through the glass of a closed
window.

I walked into the room. My patient was dead. She was also so very
beautiful. The lines of agony were gone, replaced by the pallor and peace of
death. The death angel had come to collect her and take her and she was ready
to leave. Blessed be.

~ ~ ~

From the immortal kingdom of the Samurai, Imperial Leader Yokami Sukani
and his eternal wife Tomoe Gazen, yearned for the child they knew they
would never create. Her Katana keened bereft, for the next Daughter of
the Sword. Bishamon, the God of War and his blade, wreak havoc in his
endless pursuit of pain and suffering.

The Sword of War must disappear, forever.

The Scottish Highlands, 14th April, 1746. The battle of Culloden
Moor—is just forty eight hours away. Epona, goddess of horses, dogs,
healing springs and crops prayed with the old mothers for the come of
the girl child prophesized to be born with the Sight for the magnificent
Friesian horses.

The Samurai's Katana recognises Marie MacDonald.

A bargain struck.

In modern Australia, the awaited one, Connor MacDonald is birthed.
In the far distant sky, a low grumbling sound thrummed across the
horizon, as the blood of the ancient Scottish Horsemen stirred and woke
from their three-century slumber. The girl child of their blood, in her
first cry, Summonsed them, awakened them, and they smiled.

Brutality found her. Her cries Awakened the ancient Samurai. Those
who spill the holy blood of the Samurai, will feel the bite of the
Katana. Clan justice befalls those who would harm a Scot's kin.

Bishamon, mad with rage, hunts for his blade.

Will he regain his instrument of destruction?

Born of the blood of the ancient Scots. Named daughter by the
immortal Samurai. Doubly blessed or doubly cursed, will Bishamon make
Connor MacDonald his instrument of revenge against Yokami Sukani?

Kathrinne Leannan: I
smell rain before clouds gather across the sky. I feel the dawn before the sun
paints my world the colours of the earth. It is the flit of gossamer wings
above my head as I walk through the garden that warms my soul and makes me glad
that faeries exist. The universe is my mistress and my strength. Things that
growl in the shadows or snap at my ankles in the night are my dark friends—the
source of my creativity. I, am Kathrine Leannan